From the Wreckage
by lizwuzthere
Summary: Mid-War Cybertron; After his transport ship crashes, Knockout finds himself in the company of three of those infamous warriors: the Wreckers. No lone Decepticon could hope to escape that situation alive, so Knockout will just have to be something else. Like an Autobot.
1. Chapter 1

**This fic is sort of a prequel to the next one I'm doing in my Opportunity Knocks series. It basically contains all of the background information about Wheeljack and Knockout that will be mentioned in that story.**

**OH and Trauma, the OC in this chapter, is the character of Blueskyscribe. You should read her story with him: Life in Glass Houses.**

* * *

"These sort of injuries aren't complicated, you should have everything you need there. Just don't make the first repair until you have the welder within reach.."

"_Sure, Doc um... Okay yeah, I got it._"

"Make sure it isn't the soldering iron. I don't want to have to scrape out bonding metal when I get back."

"_No no, it's not- oh wait a klik... Yeah. Yeah okay _now _I got it!_"

"_Wow, um... when is the REAL doctor going to be back? I think I'd rather wait for him, honestly._"

"_Don't worry_._ Knockout showed me how t'do this tons of times._"

Knockout's smile widened as he heard the small voice of their patient picked up by Breakdown's comm. "Tell your patient there to metal up!" He said, intentionally louder than before so they would hear him. "He's a Decepticon, isn't he? And Decepticons aren't afraid of losing something trivial like a leg every now and again."

"_Wa-wait am I going to _lose it_? It's not that bad really, I can wait!_"

Breakdown's laughter accompanied the terrified patient's vocals until finally he spoke up again. His voice took on that deep and commanding tone it did when he was trying to act tough. Knockout thought that he sort of liked that tone. "_Don't be stupid! You're a Vehicon; legs practically crystalize in the mines for you lot._"

"_I THINK I'M RATHER ATTACHED TO _THIS_ ONE!_"

"Knockout."

At hearing his name called, the red medic turned around, still wearing that amused grin. Sitting on the opposite end of the tiny passenger bay, a lavender jet was tapping his digits expectantly on their makeshift table. He had a '_stop teasing patients and come back here and play this slagging game that YOU wanted to play in the first place_'look about him, so Knockout offered him a short wave and went back to his conversation.

"You'll have to let me go, Breakdown. Trauma's about to pitch a fit because he's not getting enough attention." Knockout couldn't be bothered to listen to whatever protests Trauma was offering in the background and instead focused on Breakdown..

"_Alright alright. I'll see you soon though, yeah?_"

"We shouldn't be more than another sub-cycle." Knockout glanced out one of the small, rectangular windows of the transport ship. Outside he could just make out the dark grey and orange streaked ground far below. "We _are _flying over the Badlands though, so there's a chance we'll get lost and be another two or three."

"_Why would you get lost?_"

"Communication tends to short out in this area. It might not affect us up in the air, but still. Don't fry a circuit if you comm again and I don't pick up the first time."

"_I'll try to restrain myself._"

With a quiet hum of approval, Knockout finally disconnected and swiveled back around towards Trauma. "Now then, where were we?" he mused, sauntering over and sitting across from the other medic.

Trauma said nothing for a moment, but continued tapping his digits on the box they were using as a table, eyeing his comrade irritably.

The two of them had been called away to assist a Decepticon base not too far from their own which happened to be short on medics and close to a recent battle. Apparently, there were Autobots out there who, when facing off against a force three times the size of their own, decided they were _too good_ for running away. Knockout knew the type; even though he'd tried to pound it out of him, Breakdown was like that sometimes...

Well, unfortunately, it seemed these particular Autobots _were _too good for running away, because in the end it was the Decepticons who had turned tailpipe and fled. There'd been quite a mess to clean up... Breakdown had wanted to come help, (and probably check out the destruction) but he wouldn't have fit in the transport with them. And it was stupid to try and drive across the Badlands. They _were _called the Badlands, after all.

So since it was only the two medics on this tedious journey back, Trauma obviously wasn't thrilled at being left hanging. Finally he spoke up, "Before you so rudely shut me out to go talk to your _assistant_, it was your turn." Knockout noticed the emphasis on the word, but chose to ignore it.

"I hardly think interrupting a card game to give crucial medical advice ought to be considered rude." Knockout picked up one of the tiles on the table, adding it to his stack.

"Oh sure, sounded _real_ crucial." Trauma raised an optic ridge as he looked down at the tiles in his servo and began shuffling through them. He was holding the tiles in a stack so Knockout couldn't see how many he had left. "You don't actually think he was calling for help with a patch job? He just misses you." His speech took on an air of mocking and he looked up again. "Isn't that cute, KO? Your big, blue brute wanted to hear the sound of your vocalizer."

Knockout's optics narrowed. There were a few things he wanted to say to that, but seeing as how he had to spend the next sub-cycle shut in with this mech (unless he wanted to go sit with the genericons flying the ship, which would be slightly less enjoyable than driving his drill through his optical socket) he didn't make any of the comments that crossed his processor. Instead he just growled. "Take your turn already."

Trauma didn't seem to have the same thought process and decided to keep at the subject. "Aww you're not mad, are you?" The jet shrugged his shoulder plating, though his wings gave a short flutter behind him, betraying his amusement. "Come on, now. After _that _display you can't expect me not to tease you."

"Display?" Knockout hadn't meant to engage Trauma on the subject, but he was visibly offended by this last comment. "I'd hardly call a private conversation a display. A _medical_ conversation, might I add?"

"Oh. So that big, goofy grin you had on the whole time was because you get _so _excited about welding." Trauma placed a tile down on the table, smirking up at Knockout. "Your move."

Knockout's optics dropped down to his tiles. _Had_ he been smiling? He couldn't remember.

"Not like it's any of your business," he began, keeping his optics down, "but there's nothing between me and Breakdown." He picked up another tile.

"What? _Nothing_, you say?" Trauma sneered, leaning back in his seat. "I don't believe that for a nano-klik! The way you two carry on- I'd have thought you'd be sending out invitations to your bonding ceremony already." He leaned forward again, placing another tile. "Send me one, by the way. When you do_._ Which you _will_."

"If you must know," Knockout's digits gave an annoyed twinge as he continued. "Breakdown and I have an... arrangement of sorts."

"That's what you call it? Not very romantic."

"Yes. That _is _what I call it." Knockout placed a tile. "And it's _not_ romantic. It's not any deeper than your attachment to... Oh, I don't know... This table we're using."

"Wow!" Trauma's optics widened slightly. "You'd compare Breakdown to a _box_ we're using for a table?"

"That's right." Knockout reached forward, tapping the crate with his pointed digit. "You found the thing and thought it would be a good table, so you fixed it up to be one. It does its job, and once you don't need it anymore, you can just put it back and it'll be a box again. No need to get attached to the thing being a _table_."

Trauma winced and looked down at his tiles again. "Huh... seems a bit harsh." He moved to place a tile down. "But I guess if you're both satisfied with just that." He paused, his servo still grasping the tile, and he looked up and met Knockout's gaze. "...Breakdown _does_ know you two aren't serious, right?"

Knockout just sort of mumbled in reply, giving a short glance out one of the windows again. "Well, yes... he must... I'm sure he does."

"Oh _Primus_, Knockout," Trauma rubbed his servo against his helm. "If you really haven't had that conversation with him... You think he's just gonna know not to get attached? ...I mean, it's _Breakdown_. If anyone would-"

"What makes you think you know what Breakdown feels!?" Knockout snapped, slamming a tile down on the table. "I've known him for _vorns _longer than you have!"

Trauma strummed his pointed digits on his helm, still resting in his servo. "Yes that's true... But, just because you know him better doesn't mean I don't know him at all. We've all been stationed together for a while now... long enough to consider him a friend, at least."

"Oh please, don't be stupid," Knockout groaned, clearly growing tired of this conversation. "We're _Decepticons_. And Decepticons don't have friends."

"WHAT?!" Trauma pitched forward, erupting into laughter. "HA HA HA! Where did you hear that- some old Senate propaganda?!"

Knockout said nothing in reply, only watching Trauma as he tried and failed a number of times to come out of a terrible fit of giggles. Finally, he calmed down and, after clearing his vents quietly, spoke again.

"Uh yeah... I don't think not having friends is a Decepticon thing." Trauma shrugged his shoulder plating and tilted his helm forward a bit. "I think it's more of a _cynical aft _sort of thing."

"Having friends is a liability, Trauma." Knockout folded his arms across his chassis, glaring coldly at the other medic. "How many times have you seen someone get scrapped by going back _for a friend_? That sort of attachment- it's the kind of idiotic thing an Autobot would do." He vented heavily and turned to look out the window again. "Attachment gets you killed. That's why I don't have friends."

When he turned to look back at Trauma, he was a little surprised to see the lavender jet had an awfully smug smile on his face. "Mmhmm. So that's the reason, huh? ...If you say so," he mumbled, letting his optics trail up and down the red mech.

Knockout narrowed his optics. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"No no no, don't think I don't know what that condescending look is about. You're trying to _analyze _me, aren't you?" Knockout shouted, "Well cut it out! What, do you think you're some kind of psychologist now?"

"I would be a _psychiatrist_, actually." Trauma's grin became even more smug, if that was possible. "I have medical training, after all... but since you asked; what I think you're-"

"No." Knockout interrupted immediately, holding up a digit to stop him. "No, I did _not_ ask."

"What _I_ think," Trauma continued, speaking louder over Knockout despite his protests, "is you just use this _'Cons have no friends_ thing as an excuse. You don't really feel that way."

"I said NO. I'm not interested in your stupid theories!" Knockout interrupted again.

Trauma spoke even louder, practically shouting now. "You just don't want to admit you have those feelings for Breakdown because you're afraid! You're afraid of losing him so you _pretend_ like losing him would mean nothing at all to you!"

"_SHUT UP!_"

It was quiet for half a klik and then Knockout's comm line pinged. His digit flew to his audial to accept the call; turning his helm away from Trauma, he screamed, "WHAT?!"

"_Whoa. Hey, sorry Doc. Didn't mean to catch you at a bad time..._"

Breakdown.

Knockout glanced back at Trauma. The mech met his gaze only for a second, then he reached forward, placing down what was his last tile on the table. _Ugh_. That patronizing smirk was driving Knockout crazy. He thought for a moment to reach over and just slap it off his stupid grey face... but instead he stood and strode across the bay to get away from the other medic.

"It's fine. Trauma's just... It's fine," he grumbled into his comm. "What is it, Breakdown?"

"_No, it's uh... well, I think I just misplaced some gears in this guy here, and he's-_"

Now that he was listening more carefully, Knockout could hear the same patient from before absolutely shrieking in the background. "Why is he yelling? Did you not give him any circuit dampeners?"

"_Heh. Nope._" Breakdown continued in a whisper, "_That was on purpose, though. Shoulda heard the scrap he was talkin' about you fer not bein' here. Figured it might help him learn a bit about showin' respect._"

Knockout's smile returned. "Oh really? Well, when I get back I can certainly-"

Suddenly cutting himself off, Knockout lifted his servo up to his face. Oh, he... really _was_ smiling.

Oh no.

"Uh... Listen, Breakdown," Knockout's tone changed suddenly, becoming much darker. "I think when I get back we should have a, uh... a _talk._"

"_Oh. Uh... yeah, sure Doc. What did you wanna talk about?_"

Knockout hesitated, tapping his digits fervently on one of the seats nearby. "I just wanted to... clear up some things," he said quietly, giving a brief glance back towards Trauma. "I thought we-"

He never got to finish. Just then, the ship jolted sharply to the side, sending Knockout crashing to the floor, his helm striking the metal with a powerful clang! Alarms began buzzing and flashing red in the bay. Knockout could hear Breakdown's voice calling him on his comm, but he was too dazed to respond. There was a sensation of falling, and falling _fast._ Breakdown's voice faded into static. There was a loud, terrible crunch. The scream of shredding metal...

And then nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**I was so excited when I heard about the new Wreckers comic that I wrote like five pages of this today. I am so pumped for Wreckers you guys :U**  
**I'll try to get this updated quicker because I'm excited for that~**

**CHAPTER WARNINGS: blood, gore, dismemberment, violence, minor/major character death**

* * *

"Scrap... I didn't think you'd actually get it down."

Wheeljack climbed up to join the sniper on her perch. From up on the rocks there was a better view of the smoking Decepticon ship spiraling to the ground. "Alright, I guess you win, Percy. Nice shootin'."

"My name is not 'Percy,' it is Perceptor." she corrected. She then lowered the rifle away from her face to glare at him. "And if you cared to take notice of anyone but yourself on the battlefield, you might have known better than to wager on my marksmanship."

"Cut me some slack! I was fighting off at least thirty 'Cons at any given moment back there."

"Hardly. I counted thirteen at your peak."

With an annoyed huff from his vents, Wheeljack took his optics off the ship for half a second to glare at the other 'Bot. "You're a pain in the aft, you know that?" He looked back just in time to catch a purple tailfin disappearing behind a ridge in the distance. "But slag if you ain't got some talent with a rifle."

"I would never depend on something so equivocal as talent." Perceptor turned away, sliding down the short incline back to the plateau where their meager equipment and supplies were waiting for them. After clipping her rifle to her back, she turned to face Wheeljack again. "Every shot I make is subjected to a precise calculation of angle, wind speed, friction from air resistance, geological rota-"

"Okay okay I know how that science junk works, you don't have to give me a physics lesson." Wheeljack, rather than follow her down, climbed up further to take her place at the top of the orange streaked, metal rock. "So you're doing a bunch of science in your head every time you take a shot, huh? You sure managed to get it off quick, considering."

"It is a rather complex equation." Perceptor gave a light tap to the glass piece over her left optic as she continued, "But I am helped along by my reticle here; it reads and condenses some of the less obvious variables which cuts the time between aiming and firing by three hundred percent... Three hundred and twenty two point six, actually."

"Hmm. Well, regardless of how, you still shot the thing down." He turned to look back out at the thin pillar of smoke now rising from the invisible wreck. "When we make it back to the Xantium, I'll owe you a drink."

"There's no need for that. It was hardly a fair bet." Perceptor shrugged slightly and nodded towards the smoke. "And in any case, ridding the world of just a few more Decepticons can be considered it's own reward."

"Heh heh, true. Very true." Allowing a mischievous smirk to cross his face, Wheeljack looked back to Perceptor. "Whattaya say we go finish the job then?"

Perceptor didn't respond for a moment, she only glared up at her teammate. Finally she spoke up, but only after turning away towards the opposite horizon, "The job is finished. Besides, our orders are to wait here." She sounded firm and even a little bit annoyed by the suggestion.

"Come on, Percy! It's not that fa-"

"Perceptor." She interrupted, only glancing over at him. "And I would NOT care to explain later why both of us were missing when he arrived back."

"Fine. You can just explain why I'm missing, then!"

Before Perceptor could raise any further objections, Wheeljack had transformed and disappeared down the opposite side of the incline. She didn't follow after him, but she did peer over the side of the hill and watch him go for a minute. When he disappeared over another slope, she let out an irritated vent and looked away. Some mechs just couldn't follow orders. At least she was on this team to balance him out a bit. Honestly, you couldn't just do whatever you wanted out here; there were hierarchies for a reason... even if it meant missing out on killing some Decepticons.

Perceptor glanced over at the smoke on the horizon one last time before she turned away again. If Wheeljack was going to get himself into trouble he would just have to deal with the consequences by himself. She wasn't about to let him drag her down too.

* * *

Knockout was aware of two things: that he could hear his name being called faintly, and that there was a searing pain coming from his left arm.

It was probably Breakdown. That big oaf must've rolled over onto his arm again... and what was he saying? He couldn't quite make it out. That was a bit strange though; it didn't sound like he was right next to him like he should be. Lifting his right arm, he tried to push at the mass pinning his other one down.

Once his servo made contact with the mass, he knew it was not Breakdown. The metal was cold and heavy with a rough surface like it'd been through a grinder. Knockout tried to focus so he could figure out what this thing was, but his processor was still rebooting; he was just barely conscious. He did manage to listen more closely to the voice and was able to distinguish a few words.

"Knoc...! Please say som... help! HELP M-"

As he was finally able to process the meaning of the garbled words, a sharp jolt of panic ran through his spark. Something had happened. Who was calling for help? Was that Breakdown?!

His whole body shot upright instinctively to see where this voice was coming from. This proved to be a mistake, of course, because the instant he shifted up, a flood of pain rocked through his sensors from his pinned arm.

The pain at least brought him fully to his senses, and the agonized scream and slur of expletives that escaped him was heard by the other voice.

"Knockout! You're alive! Can... c-can you get over here? Please hurry!"

This time he recognized the voice as Trauma. Yes, now he remembered. They were on a transport ship together. Breakdown wasn't even there. He already knew that. Why had he been so worried? Before Knockout could suppress his pained groaning enough to respond, there was a loud metallic thud followed by the sound of some rubble clanking around. A moment later, a voice spoke up, revealing the arrival of a third mech.

"Hey! You two alright back there?" It was a higher pitched voice this time, one Knockout didn't recognize.

"No!" came Trauma's response.

"Hang on, let me just-" There were more sounds of rubble shifting around, and then some footfalls across the metal. Knockout still couldn't see where any of these noises were coming from; in fact he could barely even see the piece of metal that was pinning him down. The footfalls stopped at last, still out of sight, and it was quiet for just a moment. Finally Trauma spoke up again.

"Don't just stand there staring! Get Knockout!" He was shouting, and his vocalizer sounded strained. He must have been injured as well.

"Ah, okay! Wh-where is-?"

"I'm over here!" Knockout spoke up.

He could hear the other mech scramble to follow their order and not a minute later, a dark blue Eradicon came into view as he climbed over the twisted wreckage. Knockout noticed one of his wings was bent at a very awkward angle and he was a little scratched up, but other than that he appeared okay. This must have been one of the pilots.

The Eradicon hurried over to Knockout and knelt beside him. "Uh… So, Doctor Trauma's in pretty bad shape…" he kept his vocalizer quiet, "He's going to need your help, but…" his gaze turned to the medic's pinned arm.

"Well hurry up and get this thing off me, then!" Knockout glared up at him, "I can't do much from under here."

"I'll try, but..." The Eradicon didn't finish the sentence, he just stepped over and put his servos on the metal shrapnel over Knockout's arm. Just as they started to lift, the metal around them started to creak and shift. Particularly a very sharp looking bit of paneling hanging just over the two 'Cons.

"STOP!" Knockout shouted, staring up at the debris above them. "Frag, this whole thing's too unstable."

The Eradicon stepped back, looking up as well. After a moment they let out a resigned vent and turned back to Knockout . "Well... If we can't get your arm out we could always... y'know... lose the arm?"

Knockout felt a twinge of panic in his spark at the suggestion. He was a surgeon. Even though it could be replaced, losing one his arms would still be devastating. Especially if Trauma needed serious medical care, which was sounding very likely. However, as he looked up and down the scraps of what used to be the ship around them, he realized there probably wasn't any other choice if he wanted to get out of there alive. He hesitated to admit it, but even hesitating was a bad idea. They didn't know how long this particular pile of metal would hold up.

Finally, he growled up at the Eradicon, "My toolbox was somewhere in the back. Go find it."

Seeing Knockout was going to go along with his plan, he nervously nodded and disappeared out of view to further search the cabin. This left Knockout alone for a few minutes so he could stare at the sharp daggers of rubble hanging overhead, dreading the moment the Eradicon would come back with the box. He suddenly found himself wishing Breakdown were here. He was big enough that all that scrap metal on the ceiling would be no problem... Of course Breakdown wasn'tthere so it was pointless to think about it.

It felt like ages passed before he did finally come back. He stepped into Knockout's view holding a very dinged up looking purple box with the symbol for a spark pulse engraved in white. "Is this it?" he asked.

"...Yes." Knockout made sure his voice sounded firm. He wasn't going to show how much this was unnerving him, especially not to some faceless drone. "There should be an electric saw in there. Get it out."

He watched as the Eradicon shakily opened the container and started shifting through the supplies. They appeared almost as nervous as Knockout himself. That didn't really help to make him feel any better.

It also didn't help that he was holding up various tools and asking if this was the one he meant. Stupid drones. They didn't know anything. After sorting through what felt like every tool in the box (including wrenches, screwdrivers, gauze, some stasis cuffs) and explaining that no that is not what he was asking for you idiot, he finally held up Knockout's electric saw.

"Ah! This must be it!" the Eradicon exclaimed. Then looked to Knockout for confirmation.

At the sight of the tool, Knockout suddenly felt like his spark was being squeezed in its casing. Perhaps part of him thought the Eradicon wouldn't find it and they'd have to come up with some other plan that involved less dismembering... It was too late to turn back, though. He had to see this to the end; it really was the only way he'd survive. He knew this, but even so he didn't reply for a moment, and just stared up at it anxiously.

"Yes..." he replied at last. "Yes, that's it."

"Okay." the Eradicon proceeded to put down the toolbox and knelt down beside Knockout. "So um..." they held up the tool uncertainly towards his arm, "Where should I... y'know... do it?"

"As close as you can to the elbow joint." Knockout replied. "There are fewer major energon lines in that area. Also have the gauze ready, I do not intend on bleeding out after you've sawed my fragging arm off!"

The Eradicon didn't really reply to this, just reached over and grabbed a handful of the metallic gauze from the open toolbox behind him. Knockout noticed he was shaking a bit as he did. Perfect. Nothing like having a jittery servoed surgeon to build confidence in your upcoming procedure. The thought of Breakdown popped into his head once again. He wasn't a great nurse but he would have felt much better had he been here to do this for him... but he _wasn't_! And Knockout was starting to annoy himself with of all these 'what if Breakdown was here' scenarios.

As Knockout mentally scolded himself, the Eradicon finally picked a spot and powered on the saw. The whirring of the tool brought Knockout back to reality at last and he felt himself tense up involuntarily. A moment later, a searing pain shot through his system as the saw met his plating.

Without even meaning to, Knockout reached up with his free servo and seized the Eradicon's bent wing, yanking him away! As he stumbled back, he dropped the saw in favor of clutching his injured wing.

"OW! What the frag?!" he glared down at Knockout, "I'm trying to help you, what was that for?"

"Scrap, I didn't... i-it was a reflex. It won't happen again."

"Are you sure?" The Eradicon didn't seem convinced. "Because if you're going to keep moving around or grabbing at me while I do this I might mess up and... well, if I do it won't be _my _fault."

Knockout considered this for a moment. It was a good point. There weren't many people who could just sit still while they had a limb sawed off and despite his high opinion of himself, he knew he definitely wasn't one of them. What other options were there? He could try to walk the Eradicon through disabling his pain receptors. But that was a delicate operation and he really did not trust this shaky drone to go poking around in his nervous system. There had to be a simpler solution. After thinking quietly for a second, his optics fell on his toolbox again. It was still open and he could see most of the tools inside. One of them gave him an idea.

"Get the stasis cuffs." he said pointing at them.

The Eradicon quickly reached down and plucked them out of the box. "These?" he asked, "Why do you even have these?"

"For unruly patients who won't let me operate on them." Knockout explained. "You know, like _me._ Just put one cuff on my wrist here and I won't be able to fight back. Then you can take it off when it's done."

"Yeah okay... but that won't stop you from y'know... feelingeverything."

Knockout didn't respond, he just glared up at the Eradicon. Of course he knew that, he wasn't stupid like this drone. The very idea of not being able to move while this imbecile was operating on him was truly _horrifying_... but he didn't have a choice!

"Just do it." he growled.

At hearing Knockout's tone, the Eradicon immediately moved to obey. Pinning his free servo down, he snapped the cuff onto the medic's wrist. It only took an instant for the device to take effect and suddenly all of Knockout's circuits froze up and he couldn't move. The only thing he was left control over were his optics. Once he was certain the cuffs were working, the Eradicon shifted to the other side of Knockout and picked up the saw again. After letting out a quiet vent, he leaned forward, holding the arm in place, and started cutting.

As the saw cut through his plating and the cables beneath, Knockout began to really regret this decision. He had been taken injuries before, sometimes very serious ones, but a blaster shot or a single stab wound was nothing compared to this. This was slow and deliberate. The vibration of the saw slicing through his flesh ran up and down his arm, shooting pain all the way to his core, to his very spark. And he couldn't do anything about it. He couldn't even scream. All he could do was shutter his optics and wait for it to be over. It couldn't have been more than a minute but felt like it was going on forever. That stupid drone was probably taking his damn time too!

Knockout's optics shot open and he glared over at the Eradicon, hoping that his optics were expressing what his face currently couldn't. He did seem to take notice, because the Eradicon glanced over and met his gaze for a second. He didn't stop, though. Rather he pressed harder, apparently trying to go faster, all the while mumbling apologies.

The apologies were not helping, and neither was going faster! Just as Knockout thought he couldn't take any more of this, his vision was overcome by static and he blacked out.

When he opened his optics again it felt like no time at all had passed, but it must have because he was no longer stuck under the rubble of the ship. He was in a whole different place, in fact. The pain in his arm was still there, but it was more of a dull ache compared to the agony it had been before.

"You're awake!"

Knockout looked over and saw the Eradicon stepping over what looked like dislodged passenger seats from the front of the cabin. He stepped up to the medic and knelt down next to him. "That's good. For a moment there I thought I'd killed you."

"I told you he wasn't dead. He just went into stasis lock for a bit." the voice of Trauma spoke up from beyond the Eradicon. Knockout couldn't see him from where he was laying though. "Figures. He's got no problem with watching his patients squirm but just a little bit of pain for himself and he's out like a blown fuse."

With what could only be described as a growl, Knockout pulled himself upright to glare at Trauma, fully intending to put him in his place. The anger fell off his face when he saw the state the other medic was in though. Trauma was sitting pinned against the far wall by a metal crossbeam that had pierced his shoulder, gone through the wing behind it, and into the wall. Not only that, but another smaller beam was protruding right from the center of his chest dangerously close to where his spark chamber should be.

When Knockout just stared instead of sassing back like he would have, Trauma let out a very forced sounding laugh. "Yeah I know. Makes your arm look like a fraggin' scratch, doesn't it? But at least _I'm_ still conscious."

Knockout shifted uncomfortably, and made to stand. The Eradicon quickly grabbed his arm to help him up, and stood close by ready to help as he made his way over to Trauma.

"How are you still alive?" Knockout approached the jet, bending over to examine the pole sticking out of his chest. "This looks like it's going right through your spark!"

"Yeah.. I was hoping you could tell me." Trauma grumbled, reaching up and hovering his servo over his wound. "I can't exactly examine myself from this position, you know?"

"Right..." Knockout turned back to the Eradicon. "Get my toolbox."

He was quick to do as he was told, and scrambled back over the pile of rubble towards the back where Knockout had been trapped. While he was doing that, Knockout took the opportunity to look down at his own arm, or rather, what was left of it. The cut was rather choppy and unskilled, but the Eradicon did manage to stem most of the bleeding that caused; there was gauze taped and stuffed into the wound to keep him from bleeding out. Drones may have been stupid, but at least they could follow directions, Knockout thought.

When he reached up to touch his severed arm, he noticed that the stasis cuff was still attached to his wrist. He was confused for a moment before he realized it was only half the cuff. The connecting metal between the two cuffs had been cut away.

Trauma noticed him looking at it. "Yeah, the pilot couldn't find the key to the cuffs." he explained. "So he just cut it off..."

"Whatever..." Knockout grumbled, lowering his arm. "At least it's off."

As he was saying this, th Eradicon came stumbling back over the scrap metal and hurried towards Knockout with the toolbox in their outstretched servos. "Here you go, Doctor!"

Knockout gestured for him to place it on the ground, which he did. Using his one arm, Knockout quickly opened the box and sifted through the tools. He pulled out a diagnostic scanner and turned back towards Trauma to run the scanner over his chassis, focusing mostly on the wound from the pole.

It took a moment for the scanner to process its findings, but then a there quiet beep followed by the screen lighting up. Knockout read it silently and then looked up at Trauma.

"Aren't you fortunate?" he said, "Looks like that crossbeam stopped just shy of your spark chamber. I still wouldn't recommend removing it until we have some more equipment to patch you up."

"Alright so... But how can we get that equipment?" Trauma sounded a bit worried.

"I could go find someone and bring it back." The Eradicon spoke up. Both medics looked over at him.

"You don't look like you can fly with that wing." Knockout said.

"But wait, wasn't there another pilot?" Trauma asked, "Maybe he could go."

"Uh... no." The Eradicon lowered his gaze. "No, he... didn't make it."

The two medics didn't respond, they just exchanged glances. Trauma's expression was noticeably more sympathetic than Knockout's. After a quiet moment, the Eradicon spoke up again.

"But I could still go." he said, "I can't fly, like you said, but I could walk. While we were up in the air I saw what looked like an Insecticon hive just a few kliks northwest of here."

Knockout grimaced at the word. "Ugh... _Insecticons_?" he grumbled. Those disgusting bugs were even worse than the genericons. "What makes you think they won't tear you to pieces the second you step into their territory?"

"The Insecticons are on our side now." The Eradicon replied, "I mean... yeah, they're big stupid brutes, but they know one badge from another. I might be able to get them to help."

"Are you willing to bet your life on that chance?" Knockout then gestured towards Trauma, "More importantly, are you willing to bet _his _life?"

Trauma was staring down at the pole in his chest, not looking especially pleased. "I don't think we have much of a choice, Knockout." he said this very quietly and without looking up.

Knockout's gaze lingered on Trauma for a moment before he turned back to the Eradicon. "Alright. Well, I'm in no shape to travel, so you're on your own on this little escapade."

"That's fine." The Eradicon straightened their posture, their good wing twitching slightly. "You should stay with Doctor Trauma anyway to keep an optic on him. I'll try to be back as soon as I can." With that, he started towards the opening to the cockpit to climb out of the wreckage.

Just as he was climbing through the crooked doorway, Trauma called out, "Hey. What's your name, anyway?"

The Eradicon stopped and looked back. "Oh... Yeah I guess I never got to introduce myself, huh? Well, I'm Slingshot." he replied.

"Okay. Thanks, Slingshot. Good luck!" Trauma smiled weakly after him. Slingshot's wing gave a pleased flutter, and with that they hurried into the cockpit and out of sight.

Once he was gone, Knockout sat beside Trauma, pulling his knees up, and let out a long ventilation. "Those Insecticons are going to rip him apart." he grumbled, mostly to himself.

"You don't know that." Trauma said this forcefully, even though he wasn't looking especially confident either.

"Well either that or he'll get himself killed on the way there."

"Would you quit talking like that?!" Trauma was sounding increasingly annoyed.

"Sorry..." Knockout shrugged, "Didn't mean to take the hope out of your only chance."

Trauma didn't respond for a moment, but then he said quietly. "It might not be my _only _chance... someone might come looking for us."

"Like who?"

"Well... weren't you on the comm with Breakdown when we crashed?"

Knockout rolled his optics. "Oh would you stop with that already?" he moaned, "I'm getting sick of you teasing me about-"

"I wasn't teasing you!" Trauma insisted, "He might actually-"

Suddenly, Trauma was interrupted by a muffled scream from outside. Both medics fell silent and stared at the cockpit opening. After a moment Trauma looked to Knockout again.

"Was that Slingshot?" he practically whispered.

"...Idiot probably just fell over some scrap." Knockout spoke quietly as well. "I'll go take a look..." He pulled himself up, slowly, and made his way through the opening after the Eradicon.

Knockout pulled himself up and out of the transport cabin and climbed over the mangled remains of the cockpit. He noticed the other pilot lying dead across the console, but paid him no mind. Looking over the frame, he saw Slingshot outside through the cracked glass. He was on a slope about 40 yards from the ship, but more importantly, he wasn't alone. Standing over the Eradicon was a white and red mech with a long sword in each servo.

Not only that, a red Autobrand was visible right in the center of the mech's chassis. Knockout shrank back, trying to hide behind one of the pilot seats as he watched. He could hear the Autobot speaking as he pointed one of the blades at Slingshot's face, but he couldn't make out the words. He stepped forward, planting one of his pedes hard on Slingshot's bent wing. The Eradicon let out a pained screech as the weight was shifted onto his injury.

Not an instant later, the Autobot raised his two swords and brought them down straight through Slingshot's chassis, piercing through his spark chamber. As the Eradicon slumped back on the ground, the light fading from their visor, the Autobot stepped over him and started towards the crashed ship. Knockout turned away and ran back through the cockpit doors into the transport cabin.

He nearly fell as he scrambled through the broken doorway. Trauma saw the panic in his movements immediately and tensed up. "What?!" he demanded, "What is it?"

Knockout stared back at the doorway, "An Autobot!" he said, trying to keep his voice down. "One of the nasty ones too. He killed Slingshot."

Trauma's optics widened fearfully, "Oh slag... if he comes in here-"

"He _is _coming in here." Knockout growled. "He was heading this way when I stopped watching."

"We... we've gotta get out of here, then!" Trauma's vocalizer was steeped in panic. He tried to grab at the crossbeam pinning him down, but the motion just made him whine from the pain of trying to shift it.

"We can't outrun this guy!" Knockout glared over at the other medic, "Neither of us could get two kliks before keeling over, anyway. Probably even less than that for you."

"C-can you fight him?" Trauma was sounding desperate now.

Knockout traced his digits over his stump of an arm. There was energon leaking out through the gauze now. "No..." he replied. "And I can't even get to my weapons anyway, not with this cuff on-"

He stopped suddenly and looked down at the cuff on his wrist. Knockout couldn't run and he couldn't fight, but he was a _Decepticon._ And that half a stasis cuff was giving him an idea on how he could live up to that namesake. All he had to do was make a convincing show for the Autobot.

Taking ahold of the gauze stuffed into his arm, Knockout tore it out handful by handful and tossed it over the pile of rubble and out of sight. Trauma was watching him looking thoroughly confused.

"What the slag are you doing?"

Knockout turned to face him, and Trauma shrank back as he did. There must have been a look in Knockout's optics giving him away, because the medic immediately knew what was coming. As he started to approach, Trauma took ahold of the crossbeam again and, ignoring the pain, struggled violently to free himself.

"No! No, Knockout don't!" Trauma wasn't bothering to keep his voice low anymore. Just as he was about to reach him, Trauma managed to transform out his blaster and started raising it towards Knockout. He was able to grab ahold of the weapon and force it up and away, though. He kept a tight grip on the blaster as he glared down at Trauma.

Up in the cockpit, they could hear metal screeching as someone pulled back some paneling to get inside.

Trauma's optics were wide and terrified as he stared back up at Knockout. "I... I thought we were friends!" He whimpered.

Footsteps were approaching the entrance to the cabin.

Knockout leaned forward, placing all his weight on the pole piercing Trauma's chassis. The mech let out a pained scream, his other servo trying to reach up and push him away but being held back by the crossbeam in his shoulder. He struggled and cried, kicking out at Knockout, trying and failing to save himself. Fresh energon bubbled up from his mouth as the wound deepened. Knockout didn't stop, though. He pressed harder, feeling the metal beneath him sink into Trauma through what he knew was the mech's spark chamber. Unfortunately for Trauma, Knockout was a Decepticon. Decepticons didn't have friends.

Finally, Trauma stopped struggling. His optics continued to stare up at Knockout, wide and filled with shock, betrayal, but most of all pain. The light faded from behind his optics slowly. His horrified expression remained set.

Stepping off of his dying colleague, Knockout stumbled backwards. His pede caught on an outcropping of scrap metal and he fell, rather ungracefully onto his back. After letting himself lie there for a moment, he pulled himself into a sitting position, being sure to make a show of making it seem difficult. And there, just has he had suspected, was the white Autobot standing in the doorway staring at him with swords in his servos.

His blue optics moved from Trauma, lying dead and pinned to the wall, and Knockout sitting on his aft on the floor of the wrecked ship. After glancing back and forth once or twice, he finally settled on Knockout and a smirk made its way onto his face.

"Well whattaya know..." he said, "I didn't expect to find another Autobot in this 'Con ship."


End file.
